Happy Birthday, Marik and Prick
by The Disposable Villain
Summary: Halloween one-shot. Is Marik sure he wants to celebrate their birthday? Of course he is. He's better. Completely and totally better. But- no. Stop that. He isn't meant to think about that. That's not what well people think about. But... It's not fair. [Trigger warnings: Gore, abuse, character death.]


_DV: Hey, guys! Happy Halloween! Okay, so I know I'm posting this late. But I do have an excuse. I kind of forgot it was Halloween. Like, I knew. But it was only half-way through the day that I realised, 'Shit. It's Halloween.' So yeah. Here's your one-shot. Hope you guys like it! It was inspired by this piece of art by my friend Sam. Follow them on Facebook at **Samael Dire Artwork** and instagram at **samael_dire**. Enjoy the story!_

 **-DISPOSABLEVILLAIN-**

It wasn't fair. It wasn't _fair_.

His back itched and burned, even with its usual moisturiser spread over it. Even under a silk dress.

Just to remind him of what happened – of how wrong he was. Only him. Only him. No one else – not his brother, or sister. Just him.

He was a disgrace. He was the first-born – of course he should have wanted it. Of course he should have been okay with it.

Every other kid his age seemed perfectly content with their fathers and mothers going at their backs with a searing hot knife and mauling them. The ones that survived, anyway.

He laughed as Kek flicked a piece of dough at him. "You asshole! If you do that again, I swear I'm replacing your name with 'prick' on the cake."

Kek grinned. "Yeah, right. You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would." Marik grinned and worked on the icing as Kek stirred the dough. "Don't test me on this."

So much. He had been tested so many times. Why couldn't his brother just leave him alone?

Stop flicking dough. Stop walking in unannounced. Stop living with him. Stop talking to him.

Stop. Stop everything.

Stop living.

No, no. That was bad. Marik was better now. Marik was better. He was doing well again.

He narrowed his eyes. "That's it, I warned you!"

Kek scoffed. "You're not going to do it."

"Fucking watch me." Marik grinned.

He was meant to be better. No more thoughts of killing people.

But it wasn't fair.

* * *

 _"Marik?"_

 _Marik's eyes flashed open. He tried to push himself up, but his back screamed in protest. He turned his head to see his younger brother kneeling by his bed. "K-Kek?"_

 _Kek gave him a feeble smile. "Hey."_

 _Again, Marik tried to push himself off his stomach. He bit his lip to hold back a yell._

 _Kek placed a hand on his shoulder, and then snapped it back as though bitten by a snake. "Take it easy. Your back hasn't healed yet."_

 _Marik froze. Screaming, blood, heat, pain, chanting. The ritual. He slowly lowered himself onto his stomach again. "What about you?"_

 _Kek's smile grew harder to keep intact. "I didn't get it. He decided to only give it to the first-born son."_

 _"Oh." Marik squeezed his eyes shut. "Good. You shouldn't have to go through that."_

 _"M-"_

 _Marik shook his head and turned away from Kek._

* * *

"Marik?"

"Hm?" Marik looked up.

Kek was standing in the doorway, frowning. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course." Marik gave him a smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Kek narrowed his eyes, calculating. "I called your name three times and you never responded."

Marik didn't let himself frown – it wouldn't do any good. "Sorry. Tired. I didn't sleep much last night."

Kek nodded and took a step forwards. He stopped when he saw Marik's shoulders tense. "Do you still want to have our birthday today? We don't have to."

Marik shook his head. "It's just us ordering pizza and watching some trash on TV again. It's not like we're having a party or anything. I'm surprised we even went through with making the cake."

Kek snorted. "True." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and dug his shoe into the floor. "We were kind of fortunate though; shops always have baking stuff in around Halloween." He cleared his throat. "I guess I'll go order the pizza. Will you organise a film or something?"

Marik gave him a smile. It didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Remember to get-"

"Chicken on half, vegetarian on half. I know." Kek rolled his eyes, grinning as he turned away.

"Bingo." Marik grinned. "Oh, and lock the door once you get it. Those kids in costumes get really freaky at times when we don't have candy."

Kek laughed. "They're just kids, Marik."

Marik raised an eyebrow. "Remember the Einstein last year?"

Kek hummed. "Good point. I'll lock it." He grabbed his coat off the door handle. "I'll be back in about twenty minutes. See you in a bit."

"Yeah." Marik gripped the knife beneath his blankets tightly. "See you."

* * *

Kek groaned as he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times before registering that it was too dark to see.

He tried to sit up but chains wrapped around his wrists, pulling him stomach-down onto the table preventing him from doing anything of the sort.

"Hello again, brother."

Kek swallowed. "Marik." He tugged on the chains. "Let me go."

Marik hummed. Kek's eyes flickered around, trying to place him. "No. No, I don't think I will."

He saw something spark; a match. Flames flickered to life just in front of his nose.

On instinct, Kek cringed away from the sudden light and the too-bright eyes level with his.

He saw a Cheshire grin before the flame was blown away with a giggle. "So jumpy. Is something wrong?"

Kek tried not to panic. Marik had gotten this bad before, and he had gotten out of it. He just had to calm his older brother down. "Marik, let me out. It's okay."

"Okay?" Marik snarled. "It's not okay. It never was." He giggled again, and Kek shuddered. "But it will be."

"Marik-"

The chanting made him stop. Another spark flared and he saw the flames dance over the blade of a sharp kitchen knife. No, none of their kitchen knives had a wooden handle.

He kept it. After all those years, and all those promises, Marik had kept the damn knife.

"Marik, put it down."

"No, I don't really want to." He dragged the match up the blade at an even rate, letting the flame linger long enough for the heat to latch onto the metal and stick.

Kek jerked at the chains. "Marik, you're not him."

"I know."

"Just let me go. You know mom wouldn't want this."

"Do I?" Marik's voice was cold now – not angry and snarling, or light and giggly. "Because last I recall, she died. Giving birth to you. We never met her, brother dearest. So actually, I don't know that she wouldn't want this."

Kek heard his footsteps as the match burnt out – an uneven skip around the table he was chained to. Their kitchen one. It had to be; it was the only one large enough to fit him. He tried to move his legs.

Tied. Not chains; scarves, or ropes, or something similar.

"Round and round the mulberry bush, the monkey chases the weasel," Marik sang softly. "The monkey thought it was lots of fun. _Pop-_ " He dug the blade into Kek's back. "-goes the weasel."

Kek screamed, thrashing under Marik's hand. "Marik!"

Marik laughed as he traced the circle, the blade tearing through Kek's skin. "This is better, isn't it? Now we both get it. It's fair this way."

"Marik!" Kek screamed again as Marik tugged the blade out of his back, only to reinsert it to begin the wings.

Marik tutted, pushing Kek down with his free hand. "If you don't lie still, you're going to mess up the lining," he murmured. His words were almost lost amidst the screams. "You don't want me to have to start again, do you?"

Kek heard him, but he couldn't react – couldn't change what he was doing. "Let me go! Let go! Marik!"

"I can't." Marik paused before beginning the second wing. "You know that, Kek. Once the ritual starts, it can only end when the process is completed. Now shush." He finished the second wing in silence, ignoring Kek.

The chanting began below the wings; the writing was done in runes, split by three narrow lines.

Marik spoke in Arabic, though it was meant to be the language not spoken for thousands of years taught to the children of the cult they had thrived in from a young age.

"Let the tradition be passed; let their lives live on through us. Gods of ancient past revived-"

It went on and on, the knife digging deeper and deeper with each rune, digging through bone as Marik grew closer and closer to the end.

Kek's struggles weren't as prominent, but Marik's handiwork was no clearer or straighter. There was no light – he couldn't see well, even after his eyes adjusted. He didn't have the skill, or the experience, and he hadn't cleaned the blood away from Kek's back. It just poured out of the wounds, spilled over his flesh, and onto the floor.

It was pooling beneath the table, a steady drip-drip-drip sound.

Marik smiled and skipped around to Kek. He struck another match, tracing it along the dripping knife.

Kek's unfocused gaze followed the flame. His blinking was slow, and his breathing harsh. Blood trickled down his chin.

"M-M-M-" He convulsed into heavy coughs, his body wracked with the effort of not giving up. He gasped for breath. "M-a-arik-k-"

"Shhh." Marik ran his fingers through Kek's hair. "It's alright, brother. It's nearly over." Kek was shaking. "Don't worry. It'll be over soon. It's fair now, see? You have it, and I have it." He let the flame die and picked up the knife again. "Just one more thing."

He ran the blunt side over Kek's forehead, earning a whimper.

"Round and round," he sang as he switched to the sharp side, thinly outlining his sketch, "the mulberry bush, the monkey chases the weasel." He dug the knife in – not as much as on Kek's back, but deep enough to leave a scar. "The monkey thought it was lots of fun." He pulled the knife back and stabbed it straight into the middle of the drawing with a laugh. " _Pop_ goes the weasel."

* * *

Marik took a bite of the cake with a snort of laughter. "I warned you that I'd do it; you flicked dough at me one too many times." He grinned at the cake – a nice sponge cake with cream, icing, and jam words reading _Happy 17th Birthday, Marik and Prick._ "You didn't believe me."

Kek's lifeless eyes stared at the cake. He hadn't blinked in a few hours.

It was somewhat worrying – Marik had expected him to fall asleep after the ritual.

He shook his head and took another bite. "See? You should listen to me a lot more often."

Sirens were ringing in the background. He glanced over at his brother. The blood was pooling under the table, spreading across the kitchen floor.

The oven was still on – Kek always scolded him about turning it off after baking. "Should I turn the gas off yet? Or do you want to leave it on to clean the gunk out of the oven?"

No response.

Marik huffed and shook his head. "Kek, come on. I know you're mad at me, and I'm sorry. You know I couldn't stop him. I would have if I could; you know how he is. He made me do the ritual too. I don't know why you're surprised."

He could hear a muffled voice yelling at him from the counter. The phone. Oh, yes. The phone.

"There's a really nice person at the emergency services desk, you know," he commented. "I called to ask about cleaning up blood. Very helpful. Said they were sending some people over to help with it and everything." The doorbell rang and he looked up. "That's probably them now. Don't move; I'll get it." He paused. "You know, maybe they'll want some cake. I'm not sure if it's cooked enough."

He picked up the still-warm cake and opened the oven door, sliding the tray inside. The candles were still on it.

He glanced at his brother. The knife was still in his forehead. Was it meant to do that? Probably. If it wasn't, it wouldn't be there. "You know what, it's our birthday. It doesn't look festive enough." He picked up the matches. "Fuck it. I'll light the candles again. It's not like they'll notice, right?" He grinned as he struck the match. "What do you say? One last birthday blow before we become adults?" He nodded to himself as he lit the candles and turned the gas higher. "Yeah. I think one more is in order." He turned away as the doorbell rang again. "I'm coming! Hold your-"

The only thing in the kitchen they could find later were the two bodies, one thrown beside the other, curled into one another like two children. Siblings, hiding under a blanket from demons at Halloween.

If it wasn't for the call, none of them would have been able to tell that one child was the demon the other should have been hiding from.

* * *

 _DV: Hope you guys enjoyed. I'm gonna go see if I can last minute slip this into the YuGiOh_WattyAwards cause I unpublished No Place To Hide. If anyone wants to finish writing it with me, you can message me, but I can't finish it alone. Sorry. Thanks so much to fitzyfoop on Wattpad for being my editor! She's promised to make me write this earlier next year so you guys will have better stories. Woop! Anyway, happy halloween! Please vote and review. See you next time, Killer Queens!_


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